Asylum
by BHHGEFSLOTRTHZIMM98
Summary: Molly Hooper is a Psychotherapist, and has been offered a job by Mycroft Holmes - To help His brother - Sherlock; Who is in St Bartholomew's Mental Institution. Will Molly be able to cope with her new patient, and what will she do when the unexpected happens. Trigger warnings. Sherlock/Molly. Thanks for reading.
1. Chapter 1

**This is a story I came up with while I was doing the dishes and listening to ****_'Grimes – Oblivion'. _****Please don't ask how because I really ****_do not have a clue. _****Some characters – Especially Sherlock are very out of character, as it's completely AU.**

**Can be Dark in places – Trigger warnings: CONTAINS SUBJECTS SUCH AS ABUSE/ ATTEMPTED SUICIDE (MANT TIMES)/ FLASHBACKS / D.I.D ETC**

**Why can't I write happy fics?!**

**It will be happy in some places I swear... **

** PAIRING: Sherlock Holmes & Molly Hooper – 'cause I love 'em... **

**PLAYLIST:**

**My Immortal – **

**VNV Nation- Illusion**

**Grimes – Oblivion**

**Three wishes – The pierces**

**TO THE STORY... AWAAYYYYYYYY ~**

Molly was doing the dishes when she got the call. She suspected that it would have been John asking her if she wanted to go for drinks at the pub with our friends, or maybe Lestrade wanting her to do an autopsy on someone for the police or even Mrs Hudson asking her to come over for tea so she can talk about how ridiculous her hip was being.

But they would have phoned her phone.

This call was on her landline.

Being a pathologist was kind of like, how would she put it?

Ah. A second option, if you will. She still did autopsies from time to time when no one else could fill in at The New Hope Hospital but most of the time, she did her _actual job. _She was a psychotherapist.

**_(Psychotherapist - Noun_**

**_The treatment of mental disorder by psychological rather than medical means._**

**_)_**

Well, that's what she trained for... but not really what she does exactly. Instead of becoming just a doctor figure to the patients that she went to see, she preferred to talk to them instead, ask how their day was going and brought them things such as chocolate (if she was allowed) and books. She became a _friend_ to them. Someone they could trust. The other Doctors, and some of the staff in the places she worked it didn't approve. _'That's not what you're here for'_ they would say, in which she would reply – '_Making them fear you with your silly mind games is not going to get you any were with these patients.' A_nd with that, she would go back to her patient – she hated that word – with a smile on her face to make them feel comfortable and secure.

_Safe._

Some people, especially Lestrade and John, had rudely suggested that _that _job was not for her. 'You're to... fragile?' as John would say. But, like every time they would make a comment about her work, she simply said, 'I enjoy it. It's fulfilling.'

Which it is. She had worked with quite a few patients at many different mental institutions around London, and she even helped some of them get right back on track. It made her happy, making them happy- Well... happier in some cases.

She had worked with people who had very bad cases of Paranoia and MPD, talking to themselves and claiming to hear voices of long dead relatives and just voices in general. It was hard working with some of them, one had been whispering to himself about how he could kill her when she wasn't looking. He had to be restrained for the rest of her visits, but she never gave up on him, until he was sent to a Mental Hospital nearer his hometown of Leeds. It was a lot different, the one in Leeds. It was cleaner, the staff was friendlier to the patients and it just gave the feeling of a retirement home filled with sweet little old people who asked how your day was. She of course, still visited him, once a week and he apologized for all the times he had lashed out at her with a toothbrush or razor. He, of course, still heard voices in his head, and sometimes got extremely paranoid, but it was _a lot_ better than it was. He was 83, died in 2005. His name was Jeffery, but he called his '_other self_' as the doctors would call him, 'Jeff'.

One of her most sad, and of course made her want to quit her job in several cases, was a little girl called Catalina. She was 11 years old, had D.I.D and she was very suicidal. (**_D.I.D- Dissociative identity disorder (or multiple _**_**personality**_**_ disorder) is an extremely complex disorder that results in _**_**two**_**_ or more split identities.)_**Molly had to stop her from doing it once or twice. She was bullied in school for talking to herself, back in Russia, when she had a very mild case of schizophrenia and wasn't actually diagnosed with it until she was taken to the doctors, and it gradually got very, _very _much worse. Catalina had gone far into her mind and decided to stay there for a year, before she started to talk to herself and would answer back in a not very friendly tone. She had to get moved to a very well guarded mental institution - In London. That's where Molly comes in. Molly had been very upset that she was only 12 years old; she looked so young and innocent. That was when she wasn't her other self – We called her Cat. She did the scariest of things when she was Cat. She wrote things on the walls with her _own _blood, and it scared molly half to death. The worst thing to deal with was when she woke up from her other self, and would cry and scream because she didn't know what to do anymore. Molly had become a sisterly figure to Catalina over the years she had worked with her, and when she would break down, Molly would hold her and tell that one day, she would get out of this place – Molly planned to take her in when she was. It was frowned upon, of course, but she had no family left and Catalina trusted no one but _her. _That all ended when Molly came in to her room – in 2007, she had been working with her for 3 years – along side with Jeffery- and found that she had hung herself with her bed sheets from the land shade. Molly screamed for help, and got her down, but soon realized that she was long gone. She had left a note, addressed to Molly, who the Doctors demanded to see and tried to rip the note from her hands, but Molly was having none of it. Her funeral was a week later, and Molly was asked to do the autopsy. She was only 15.

The note read –

_Dear Molly,_

_I'm sorry for everything I have done, I know that I cannot blame all the wrong that I have done on Cat, because in reality, it was all me wasn't it? She keeps telling me it's my fault. And I believe her._

_I wanted to thank you for everything that you have done, and to know that you're help to me hasn't been for nothing. I was looking forward t living with you when I got better, but I figured that i would only be a burden to you. And I couldn't do that to you. Thank you for being the big sister I needed._

_Love, _

_Catalina._

On the back of the piece of bed sheet that Catalina had used as paper or her note, she saw red stain through the where she has written her note.

It was blood. Her blood.

It read –

_Failure _

_Cat._

She didn't go back to that job for _4 years _after Catalina.

Present Day –

Molly knew what the phone call was about. She had a new _patient _to work with. After Catalina, she spent a year on leave, but went back to it, as being a pathologist was making her bored out of her mind. She missed helping people, as weird as it sounded.

But this number that showed up on her phone, she didn't recognize. It wasn't Michael, who told her where to go for her next patient to work with and a bit of background about them so she knew what she was going into. She picked up the phone and looked at the screen. Blocked number.

She contemplated about putting it down, but decided against it, and clicked the answer button before placing the phone to her ear. "Hello?" she spoke slowly.

"Hello, Miss Hooper, I presume?" a posh, but very calm voice spoke into the phone. Who the heck was he?

"Yes, that's me... um; could I help you with something?"

"Yes, in fact there is something of great importance that you would be of great help. I have heard from past patients of your care that you are one of the best Psychotherapists in London, and I would like to ask for your help with my... little Brother. My name is Mycroft Holmes, before you put down the phone."

"I wasn't... Wait... Do you mean Mycroft Holmes, as in the eldest of the Holmes children? You got passed the Manor from your parents. Your brother... His name was Sherlock I think, right?" she remembers them from the papers, and how his brother, Sherlock, disappeared when he was just 18 years old.

"Ah...I see that you read the papers then, Miss Hooper. Yes, I am hoping to gain your help for my little brother, Sherlock. While the papers led people to believe that he went to go live with our Gran in Philadelphia, he was, in fact, taken into a mental hospital after some things... happened at home. I'll let him explain if he chooses to trust you enough." He explained, and Molly found that he sounded guilty about it.

She pondered for a moment about taking up the offer. She hadn't done any _serious_ work to help someone in a while. Mycroft's next few words bring her out of her thoughts.

"I will pay you handsomely for your help, Miss Hooper, for Sherlock needs it dearly, even if he doesn't think so."

"I don't need any more money than necessary, Mr Holmes. I will help your brother. Can I have a bit of a background about him so I know what I'm going to be doing?" She was eager to start again. Some people would find that worrying, but she was just glad to be back.

"Thank you Miss Hooper, Your help will not go unnoticed. I will send a car tomorrow at 9am exactly to take you to where he is being kept. I have sent you a file, Miss Hooper, which should be through your letter box around about... now," He cut off as she heard the sound of something being posted through her letterbox. " Be warned Miss Hooper, some of the images within this file may... shock you. I will see you tomorrow. Good night." And with that, the phone went dead.

Molly had always wondered what had happened to the youngest Holmes brother. What _really _happened to him. She thought this as she walked towards the door and picked up the heavy file. It was marked '_classified_'.

_Time to find out, I guess._

She went to go and sit at the kitchen table, her cat Toby, at her feet as she sat down and placed the file on the desk. She opened the cover slowly and stared at the first page, which in-fact was information about him.

**_Surname: Holmes_**

**_First name(s): Sherlock_**

**_Sex: Male_**

**_Age Admitted: 17 years of age, DOB: 27_****_TH_****_ March 1982_**

_He only went 'to his Grans' when he was 25 _She remembered.

**_Comment(s): Has been In and Out of St Bartholomew's Mental Institution for 13 years, but is now in St Bartholomew's intensive care unit (ICU) as a result of NO PROGRESS MADE and His Brothers demands. _**

_Catalina was in Intensive Care, _Molly thought, before reading on.

**_Reasons For Admittance: Suicide attempts (Ages 16,18,21 and 28), Deep Depression, Flashbacks – causing him to turn violent to anyone around him, Rapid loss of weight, Paranoia and attempted murder on his Father, Siger Holmes._**

- **_Admitted by Mycroft Holmes, Relation: Brother._**

**_General Information:_**

**_Complexion: PALE_**

**_Eye Colour: BLUE, GREY_**

**_Hair colour: BROWN, DARK_**

**_Height: 6ft _**

**_Weight (Since last weigh in) 98 pounds- HAS LOST 12 POUNDS SINCE PREVIOUS WEIGH IN._**

_My God_ Molly thought as she looked over at his profile again. She had never worked with someone this... _serious _before. She could see why Mycroft wanted Help, and she would gladly help him.

She looked at the comments from past carers/doctors etc:

**_Comments: Sherlock has made NO NEW PROGRESS with past carers. _**

**_They all quit within the first fortnight while caring for Mr Holmes._**

Molly gulped. Well that was reassuring. She had never worked at St Bartholomew's before, and gladly, as she had heard some having _horrific_ stories about how the patients are treated there.

Apparently it was the place for the _lost cases._

She turned the page, and was presented with a stack of photographs.

Ah. The admittance photographs. One for every time that Sherlock had been admitted into St Barts, and there was _a lot._ _Too many for one person _Molly thought.

Molly prepared herself, as she had never actually seen the youngest Holmes brother before, and according to Mycroft, she may be shocked at what she would see. She lifted the red folder cover, and gasped.

She was not expecting _that._

_The caption read: HOLMES, SHERLOCK AGE 17._

He was wearing a light blue jumpsuit, which had his name on the left breast pocket. The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, showing his pale forearms. He was tall, so very tall and he had lovely cheekbones. His nose was angular and straight and he had full, pink lips. He had curly dark brown hair, what seemed to make his skin look even paler. And his eye pierced through you, even through the photograph. He just looked like an ordinary teenager.

But she was missing the most vital part of the photograph.

He forearms were covered in scars, some faded and some looked fairly new, and had scabbed over and were raw and pink. His face was full of bruises and his eyes. He looked _scared, alone._

There were 9 photos in total, each one telling a slightly different story than the other. In each one, he got older, thinner; his cheekbones got more prominent and face longer. The scars on his arms faded, but only to be covered by more and more as the photos got newer.

His arms looked like battlefields.

In some photos he had bandages around his wrists, and each captioned with why he had been admitted. For example: June 13th 2001 – Suicide attempt – Paranoia – Flashbacks – Depression.

There were photos were he was shirtless against the white background, and it showed he had a long scar that started at his left hip, and ended near his belly button.

She got up to the most recent photograph, and a tear slipped from her eye.

The caption read: September 24th 2011- Attempted Suicide – Weight loss – Depression – Self inflicted harm. _Attempted murder._

He was aged 29. His cheekbones were prominent and looked as though they were going to cut through his skin. He looked so thin and His arms were full of more faded scars and it looked like he had carved a word _or letters _into his left arm. It read _I.O.U. _

She would ask Mycroft tomorrow is He knew the meaning.

He was still wearing a light blue jumpsuit and his hair was now black, than brown, but was still curly. He had a sullen look on his face and his eyes...

He looked _Broken._

Molly closed the folder and left it on her Kitchen table, before going into her bathroom and vomited into the toilet.

_**Well... That's the first part anyway. Ill try and upload the second part tomorrow before i go on Holiday for a week :) **_

_**Tell me what you think and thanks for reading :)**_

_**p.s: I'm not depressed as some people have asked, i've just got a really screwed up mind... o.o**_


	2. Chapter 2

**Asylum-**

**Helloooo and here is chapter two of 'Asylum'. I want to thank- **

**_MorbidbyDefault _**

**_MoniMcCoy_**

**_Billiejoe4ever_**

**_Valeriejoanmorgan - _****For reviewing and to everyone who are following and have put this story in their favourites. You beautiful people.**

**WARNINGS FOR TRIGGERS ETC... **

**DISCLAIMER- I DO NOT OWN SHERLOCK IN ANY WAY, SHAPE OR FORM.**

**(Sorry about the Caps Lock)**

**I promise that Sherlock will be in the next chapter :D**

After Molly has vomited the readymade chicken dinner, (Which was rather disgusting anyway), she splashed cold water on her face and looked in the mirror.

_Come on women_ Molly thought to herself_ you're a Hooper for Christ's sake_, _you can do this._ And with an encouraging nod to her reflection, she marched out the bathroom with a new wave of confidence, and her head held high.

She walked into her kitchen, her cat at her feet and made herself a coffee. She wasn't going to sleeping anytime soon, even if it was 12:40pm. Sherlock's file had been like no other that she had seen before. Sure, she had serious cases, such as Catalina, but she didn't know if she could take on another case just as serious as this. She knew she had agreed to it, but that was before she saw his file. What is she_ failed_ again?

She couldn't bare another Catalina incident.

Her phone buzzed on the table top, flashing with an unknown number. Has Mary got a new phone _again?_

_God that women is clumsier than me_ Molly thought.

She picked up her phone and gulped. _That's cheating!_

_Don't turn back now Miss Hooper. He needs you. – MH_

She wasn't going to turn back... was she?

No. She wasn't. She typed back a reply.

**_I won't. See you tomorrow. – M_**

_God_ _you would think this is some kind of military operation..._

Well it kind of is. She knew that The Holmes were people of importance, had a lot of Money and just so happened to be quite _famous_ here in London. She wouldn't lie and say she wasn't nervous of meeting the older Holmes brother, he did sound very intimidating. And then there was the youngest.

She just hoped she would get in his good books, so to speak.

Molly sighed, and went back to the kitchen table, and opened Sherlock's file again. She went to the 'Carer's Comments' page – She didn't even know these existed. Well she did, but she never got given one for her past patients.

**_Carer(s) Comments:_**

**_Holmes, Sherlock – Aged 17_**

**_'Refuses to cooperate and take medication.'_**

**_Aged 18_**

**_'Refuses to take Medication, only speaks to insult people. Two doctors quit for his behaviour. Wouldn't let us clean his wounds, which led to infection – Had to strap him down.' _**

_Oh... _ Molly gulped, before reading on.

**_Aged 24-25_**

**_'Refused to take Antidepressants and Sleeping Pills (For Paranoia) and refuses to eat set meals. Mr Holmes tends to pick fights with the other patients, and had to cuffed while around other patients.'_**

**_Aged 28_**

**_'Refuses to let anyone clean wounds on wrist – Also refused to eat. Mr Holmes had to be sent to a separate room from his roommates for picking fights with one of his fellow roommates, James 'Jim' Moriarty. _**

**_Aged 29 – 'Had to be cuffed as he was trying to take his own life with numerous objects. Surveillance on Mr Holmes had to be set up to its highest level and he was put in a confined room until he agreed to cooperate and take his medication. His paranoia caused him to lash out on the two guards restraining him as he tried to attack fellow patient 'Jim Moriarty' and after being took to his new room, he did not speak to anyone for 5 Days.' _**

_Ok _Molly thought, _this is going to be tricky. _

Molly closed the file before putting it in her bag, and walking to her bedroom. She set her Alarm for 7am, deciding that it would be wise to _at least _get4 hours sleep before she talks to The Holmes's.

And of course, she needed to make up a plan. She knew this wouldn't be easy, but when is anything easy?

**_Thursday, 3_****_rd_****_ March 2013 – 8:50AM_**

Molly was waiting at the front of the block of apartments that she currently lived in (_she was looking for a house originally, but we all know that didn't work). _ She had got up at 7AM, determined and confident about the days plans. She was wearing comfy skinny jeans, a green knitted jumper and some green converse. Yes she knew that those clothes were hardly _professional_ but she thought that clothes that some other _Psychotherapist's wore, such as fitted blouses and pencil skirts or suits and a 'sophisticated' brief case would make the patient feel rather cornered so she opted to wearing more casual clothing, to make it seem more like a friendly visit rather than an appointment about their mental stability._

_At exactly 9:00AM, A black car pulled up in front of her, and a man stepped out of the driver's seat, and stepped around the car before pulling open the door for her to climb in. She quietly said her thanks before setting her bag down and climbing in._

_She turned her head and gulped._

_So this is Mycroft Holmes, then._

_He was a slightly older man, maybe in his late 30's, early 40's and he wore a fitted grey suit with a waist coat and had an umbrella in his grasp. He had straight, short cropped brown hair and (and what she could only describe as) Watery gray eyes. She could see the resemblance between him and Sherlock, and even sat down; he still had a very intimidating height. _

_"Miss Hooper." Mycroft nodded at her, and gave her a small smile._

_"Mr. Holmes." _

_"I trust you read my brothers file then?" He looked at her knowingly. Well it seems so since you had my number. What else can he see?!_

_"Yes... I read it through quite thoroughly..." Molly wanted to ask questions about the attempted murder on his father, but she didn't want to seem rude. It is quite a personal question and he should probably wait to ask Sherlock if he felt he could trust her- _

_"You have a question regarding my brother; please don't hesitate to ask, considering that he will be in your care for as long as you can stand him. You might as well presume with your questions, Miss Hooper." He said all this while looking out of the window, and then turned to her with a raised eyebrow._

_"Um... Well..." She cleared her throat, "My main question is um... Why did he try to murder his, well your, father?"_

Mycroft looked at his feet for a second, before adjusting his grip on his umbrella and turning to her. _Oh no. I have said something wrong hasn't I..._

"I suppose... That you should know, considering it would explain a lot of things, such as the paranoia, the attempted suicides; not all of them, but most, and of course trying to _murder_ him. Our Father was a heavy drinker, Miss Hooper, He tended to spend every hour he wasn't working at the pub. Every time we saw him, he was drunk. And he being drunk wasn't like say... A teenager being drunk. He was very violent when he had drunk too much. Well... He was always violent, and sadly... Sherlock was the one who always asked the wrong questions, at the wrong time. He was only 7, the first time our father hit him. We were all so shocked, even if we knew how violent he could be. To put it lightly, Miss Hooper, He beat my little brother to a pulp, which sent him to hospital. And he continued this until he was 22 years old, and Sherlock had been in and out of St Bartholomew's since he was 15, but they never recorded him being there until he was 17. Our father didn't want anyone to know that his youngest son had been sent to a 'nut house' as he put it. We all thought of course, that Sherlock would be in and out, swiftly dealing with his paranoia and mental damages that caused my brother to try and take his own life for the first time that our father's beatings had caused him. He started to self harm himself and we knew that our father had broke him. So, when Sherlock got out of the asylum when he was 29, he was only out for 2 months before he tried to kill our father for all that he had put him through. We found him under our oak tree in the garden and slit wrists and bruises littering his skin. Then he was sent back, and put in Intensive Care and hasn't been out since." Mycroft finished, looking down. His grip on his umbrella was tight, and you see how tense his shoulders were through the layers of shirts and suits.

Molly was shocked. _ That would explain most things._

"May I ask...? Did he ever hit you?" She asked, cautiously. She didn't want to ask too many questions after what Mycroft just had to explain.

Mycroft looked at her sadly. "No. It was no secret, that I was deemed the 'favourite' child. I never asked questions, like Sherlock did. Sadly, his curiosity got him nowhere. It is also no secret either, that my brother resents me. We haven't spoken in 4 Months, Miss Hooper. We haven't had a civilised conversation since we were just little boys. He blames me for half of the situation he is in, as I never did anything to stop our father abusing him, like I should of." Mycroft finished with a curt nod, before turning back to the window, and she saw that his grip on his umbrella relaxed a bit, but was still tight.

Molly took a deep breath, before turning back to look out of her window, and was left to her thoughts.

The Holmes family always sounded so bonded together in the articles people had wrote about them. Of course, she knew now, that that wasn't true at-all. Her thought's left her head, as she saw St. Bartholomew's in the distance.

_Oh my God..._

**_MWHAHAHA CLIFFHANGER _**

**_(Kind of)_**

**_Sorry that it's a bit shorter and lacking creativity but I HAD to get the second chapter before i go on holiday tomorrow and I am KNACKERED._**

**_Sherlock is in the next chapter :D HUZZAHH!_**

**_Thanks for reading,_**

**_ BHHGEFSLOTRTHZIMM98 _**


	3. Chapter 3

Asylum – Chapter 3

**_ I really can not apologize enough..._**

**_I came home from my holiday and I started to write this chapter just as I finished unpacking and then... brain fart._**

**_AND THEN SCHOOL HAPPENED._**

**_Again, I want to thanks everyone who has followed this story and added it to their favourites, including:_**

- **_billiejoe4ever (again, Thank you!)_**

- **_Time Reviewer_**

**_For taking the time to review on chapter 2 J _**

**_I have written about 6 different versions of how Molly and Sherlock would meet on my phone during the holiday (I know I'm very sociable) - And I have not used ANY of them. I kept writing little parts each day and would leave it or delete it and start again and I seriously thought I was never going to finish this chapter..._**

**_Anyway, guess who's in this chapter?_**

**_SHERLOOOOOCCKKKK!_**

**_Playlist for this Chapter – (stars mean you need to listen to them. DOO ITTTT.)_**

**_*Demons – Imagine Dragons _**

**_*Nothing Left To Say- Imagine Dragons_**

**_*Sail – AWOLNATION _**

**_Alone Together – Fall Out Boy_**

**_Turn off the lights – Panic at the Disco _**

**_Strange and Beautiful – Aqualung_**

**_*Breathe of life – Florence and the Machine_**

**_Dessa – Matches to paper dolls_**

**_Paradise circus – Massive Attack_**

**_*How to save a life – The Fray_**

**_Hear me – Imagine Dragons_**

**_*Over The Love – Florence and the Machine_**

**_*Never Let Me Go – Florence and the Machine_**

**_*Bleeding Out – Imagine Dragons_**

**_Dog Days – Florence and the Machine_**

**_*No Sound But The Wind – The Editors_**

**_* Counting Stars – One Republic_**

**_*Halo – Beyonce (I AM SORRY IT JUST FITS OK) _**

**_This is probably going to be the playlist for the whole story – with the additional songs for some chapters._**

**_DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN SHERLOCK OR ANY OF its CHARACTERS – THE ALL BELONG TO MARK GATISS AND STEVEN MOFFAT, BBC ETC._**

**_TRIGGER WARNINGS _**

**_Enjoy!_**

Mycroft had said that his brother was in a mental _Hospital_ but now she knew that was a **_lie. _**

This was not a Hospital**. ****_This was a prison._**

She had never seen St. Bart's in person, only in photographs and heard people talking about it on the news, saying that some physcopathic killer had been captured and taken into care there – That's why she had refused past cases that were placed there – and of course she still had a rare nightmare of _a certain case._

It was terrible. The building its self was huge, she originally thought that it was small, secluded in a peaceful area with no distractions and a calm, quiet environment. _ Well that was what she had heard, and the image in her head was entirely wrong._

The windows, Not that there were many anyway, were small and had...**Bars **on them_. Bars. _Looked approximately 20 floors and the bricks were dull and grey. It was surrounded by leafless trees and barbed wire. She sawguards walking around the perimeter of the grounds. They had**_ guns._**

She gulped.

She was... _terrified...To say the least._

"Miss Hooper, I assure you, it's not as bad as it seems." Mycroft stated, looking at her with a look of worry. She could tell he was lying through the grit of his teeth.

"It looks more like a prison than a hospital, don't you think... Mr Holmes?" Molly asked quietly, sharing her observations with the eldest brother.

"His... _problems_ got to severe to stay in the _nice and clean _asylums, Miss Hooper, they said he was a 'lost case' and sent him here to rot away. I refuse to do so. They of course still want to try their own... treatment here... but I'm still thinking about that. He is only 31, Miss Hooper; he deserves to live a happy life – Even if that means staying here for the rest of his days. He needs someone to bring him back – I _need_ my arrogant little brother back. Do you understand? You need to be the one to bring him back." Mycroft looked at her, he looked older than he was – and he looked so, _so_ tired.

"I will try, Mister Holmes. I give you my word." She placed a hand to cover his shaking leg, and smiled timidly at him. Everyone needed a smiling face in a time of need, her Gran always said.

He smiled back, if only for a moment, before turning back to his window. She was silent for the rest of the drive down the long road up to the black gates. In rusted steel letters, it read _'ST BATHOLOMEWS' _

When she heard the car come to a halt on the dirt, Mycroft grabbed her hand before she unhooked her seatbelt.

"There's something that I haven't told you... I didn't tell you because of your past cases dealing with... This... And I feared it may send you away. My brother has seemed to form a... small... Case of schizophrenia due to his flashbacks... His other 'self' seems to be his... 7 year old self..." Mycroft explained, cringing as he waited for her reaction.

_His 7 year old self...?_

_As in when he talks in his other 'form' he's an innocent little boy?_

_What?!_

She had never heard of anything like it before! She had heard of some cases who talked as and to their older selves, but never a version of themselves when they were 24 years younger than them!

"His... 7 year old self? Any reason why his other self is so..." she trailed off.

"Young? Well... They did a bit of research, before giving up and just writing it down as another issue to add to his treatment list. I came to my conclusion this morning; actually, that is why it was not written down in the file that I sent to you. I believe that he has the second personality of his 7 year old self because our father did start beating him when he was just seven years old, and after hours of countless explanations, I think that it simply is just because Sherlock never really had much of a childhood... And he has decided to get sucked into his flashbacks and is now in two halves. His 31 year old self and his... 7 year old self. I guess...his younger self has decided to be the child he never got to be... Now. " Mycroft finished, looking at her once, nodded and presumed to get out of the car.

"Thank you..." Molly muttered to the driver, before letting herself out and closing the door. She followed Mycroft through the door's, and felt that she needed to know more about his new... self.

"You said he had flashbacks... do you know what the flashbacks are about?"

Mycroft glanced at her, before continuing to walk to the receptionist. Molly scuttled after him, feeling very _small_ against his tall frame.

"I'm sure you'll find out soon enough."

"Names?" The guard seemed to look fairly cheerful for such a dull looking place. Molly could see out of the corner of her eye the firearm he had placed against the wall. _People must try to escape then...?_

"He must be new then..." Mycroft muttered, before putting a smile on – Not reaching his eyes – and saying, "Mycroft Holmes and Molly Hooper."

The man choked on his coffee, and looking at Mycroft like he was a ghost or that person with the Hockey mask and chainsaw... what was his name... _Oh never mind that, Molly!_

"Holmes? Are you any relation to...? Sherlock Holmes?" He asked.

_So he's well known around the staff then._

"Yes, if you could give us his log book, we would like to visit my_ brother_, if you would be so kind." Mycroft said, His eyes looked almost predatory. _Oh, that's scary, _she thought.

The man handed Mycroft a small red book quickly which had Sherlock's name on a label on the front cover. Mycroft opened it onto a clean page – She only saw his name fill the pages - before writing down the date and checking his watch to write the time.

_What about his Mother? A potential Aunt maybe?_

He signed his name and slid it over to me to write hers down. She neatly wrote it down, making sure there was no ink smudges, (She was Left handed,) before carefully closing it and passing it back to the man behind the desk. He nodded once, placed the book back in a file and looked at his computer screen like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

She glanced at Mycroft as he started down the hall, and turned to the receptionist/ guard.

"You seem scared of Sherlock Holmes... Why?" She asked, leaning in towards him so Mycroft wouldn't overhear.

"Not him exactly, but he can be... violent... but whom he _associates _with. He's dangerous business missy, I recommend you stay away from him. The last person to try to help him was put in here himself just 3 months ago. Wouldn't want to see your pretty face in 'ere too."

She gulped and leaned back, before replying "We'll see."

She quickly started after Mycroft and remained behind him as they made their way down halls and up stairs. As they walked past she saw droplets... if she was not mistaken, blood, on the floor tiles and they walked past rooms – Cells more like full of people, who ignored or just stared at her as they walked by. She even had a little nosey and looked through the little circle windows of steel doors witch littered every corridor and found tables and platforms with straps and head gear.

_This is a place of nightmares._

They reached a steel door, which had the initials 'EIT/C' and was guarded by two guards with AK-47'S. As they made their way down, Molly tried to ignore the other patients in the cells who wolf-whistled and made vulgar comments about '_finally having a women to play with_.' She felt Mycroft tense and she instinctively walked faster and matched his long strides.

Mycroft was stopped by one of the guards, but quickly dismissed him as he showed him his ID and told him who they were visiting. He stopped Molly, saying that he had not seen her before and to explain why she was seeing _him. _

"She will be filling the position of his Psychotherapist from now on. She is to have an ID card made and to have access to his cell at any time – Am I understood?" Mycroft adopted a tone of authority with the guard, who audibly gulped before allowing them both access. Molly did not miss the mumbling which was directed at her before the doors closed.

"Good luck..."

Molly followed Mycroft through the steel doors and jumped slightly as she felt them seal shut behind her. She had her back turned to the cells and was staring at the doors and chipped white paint on the walls- She was looking at the sign above the door.

'Extreme Intensive Treatment – ECU Cells Block 1.'

"How many blocks are there in...? Extreme Intensive Treatment?"

_She had never heard of an ECU Cell before_. _Maybe it's extra help? _

"Just the one." Mycroft took a deep breath, before starting to slowly walk down the row of cells leaving Molly staring at the door. She wondered what they would be like. Would they be like the others? Doors crowded with a few people in each room or would they all be in a single cell? She had remembered about Sherlock having a room mate... What was his name?

Ah. James Moriarty.

_I wonder if they are back in the same cell... _She thought.

She took a deep breath and turned.

And was surrounded by white chipped painted walls and glass cells.

There were only 6 or 7 Cells in total, but the room was also filled with steel doors where she knew there were more of those... Tables. She slowly made her way down the cells, looking into them only to find white floors and walls and a single white bed hanging from the walls by two chains. She winced as her shoes echoed through the hall as she slowly made her way to Mycroft, who was waiting at a particular cell at the end of the hall, just staring blankly into it.

_Is he in there? Oh God I don't think I can do this... Oh shut up for heaven's sake Molly what would you grandmother think?! Pull yourself together women-_

_"_He isn't here yet, Miss Hooper. It's lunchtime. It's the only time he gets out of his cell – He tends to make the most of it."

Molly felt, somewhat, reassured as she continued to walk down the hall. The white tiled floor gave her a headache. As she was about to reach Mycroft, she noticed a sign above one of the steel door's and immediately came to a halt.

**_'ALL COLLARS MUST REMAIN ON – UNCOOPERATION WILL LEAD TO SEDATION.' _**

_A collar? _

"Mycroft... what's a 'Collar'?" She asked as she came up beside him, not daring to look into Sherlock's cell just yet.

"It's a... precaution that certain patients – Such as Sherlock has to wear on their necks. They call them 'Suicide Collars' to put it mildly. Basically, if their blood pressure were to go down more than a certain point – The Staff and Doctors would be informed immediately."

"Ah... Has he had... any incidents yet...? Sherlock?"

"Only once, about a week after he came here. He saved all his medication over the week, which they had thought he had taken, and tried to overdose. Luckily I just arrived and I had to make him vomit. He ruined my favourite waistcoat. And to answer your question about our mother, No, she has never visited him. She is in fear that her social status will be degraded due to her youngest son having to live in an asylum. She is as worse as our father. She doesn't care. Sherlock has not seen her for 3 years." He answered with distaste.

She let the new information about her new patient sink in. She didn't know how to respond to Mycroft's very thorough descriptions of their upbringing. She thought that this whole thing was tragic really. She would never wish this kind of trauma upon _anyone_, no matter how horrid they may be.

She turned and looked into Sherlock's cell.

The other cells in this block seemed to be clean and looked hardly used – Which they probably were, Except for Sherlock's cell and the other, which was completely opposite his.

She guessed that _that_ one was... James Moriarty's cell.

Sherlock's cell wasn't as bad as she imagined it was going to be. It had the same bed's as the others, Grey sheet's – What she guessed used to be white, hanging off of the wall by two chains and had three straps with buckles. It had a periodic table poster on the opposite wall, which looked tattered and worn. There was also a steel door in the back wall, which she guesses was how to left and came back into their cells. It didn't look like those glass walls were going to open anytime soon. The cells themselves were not as big as the others she had saw which fitted at least twenty people in. These cells could fit about ten people in at the most.

She was about to ask Mycroft about the poster which stood out against the white walls, before the intercom beeped a cheery tune and a female voice sounded.

"_Can all ETUC patients return to their cell's quietly and calmly, Thank you_."

"Miss Hooper, I must warn you. The next couple of minutes will be a test. He... we both _deduce _people. We simply observe, and we see more than a normal person would. But Sherlock is very... Truthful... and this is where most of the other doctors and therapists seemed to give up with him, as some of the things he says can be extremely... Hurtful. No matter what he says, don't give up on him. He will learn to trust you, I'm sure."

_Deduce? She suddenly felt a whole lot smaller than before. _

Before she could ask Mycroft about what he had meant about 'deducing', rich Irish voices cut through her thoughts like a knife.

"You know, He simply gives you a look over and knows your whole life story. Pretty fascinating really. I actually found it to be a bit of a turn on. And I'm not even gay." She turned to see a man with short cropped black hair, which was neatly gelled into place, wearing the same light blue jump suit that Sherlock had on in the photographs she had saw. His eyes were dark brown, almost black and she sucked in a big breath as she saw the name stitched onto the breast pocket.

She heard Mycroft sigh.

"James Moriarty... Hi." He gave her a little wave and turned to Mycroft. "Mycroft, dearest, Created anymore wars yet? Pray tell." Jim gave him a huge smile and she felt a stabbing feeling in her gut. He was very... _unnerving._

"Where is Sherlock, Jim?" Mycroft asked, glaring at Jim and swinging his umbrella.

"Spoiled Sport," Jim frowned before continuing, "He's getting his medication, and you should see his med cup, its huuuggeeee." Jim drawled out the word and gave a toothy grin. "They even took my collar off, never needed it anyway. It feels great. Poor Sherlock though, always getting his plans ruined." He turned back to Molly and she grimaced under his piercing gaze.

"So... Who are you then... Ah, you're going to be Sherlock's new 'Therapist'! To be honest Mycroft, I don't think she will survive the first deduction. She looks pretty... fragile." He giggled before his eyes were focused in between Molly and Mycroft and a cruel smirk appeared on his lips.

"Sherly! Look who's here! Brother Dearest and he's brought fresh meat."

"Ah... There you are Sherlock. I see they have boosted your medication. Is that a new pill? Whatever for?" Mycroft ignored Jim and turned to try and engage in small talk with his brother.

Molly gulped as Mycroft turned to his brother, and she took a deep breath. She looked up to see Jim smirking at her and her heart stopped as he spoke quietly.

"Have fun."

Molly let go of the breath she was holding, and slowly turned to see her new patient. A _million_ things were going through her head.

_Deductions? What in the world was a deduction?_

_Is he really as terrible as everyone she has come across says he is? _

_Don't even get her started on the seven year old situation. She was terrified to experience an episode of that nature. She knew that these kind of thoughts were no were near professional but being phoned on a Thursday evening while she had, dare she say it, __**enjoyed **__a rather low par chicken dinner, by a man who she didn't even know asking her to help with his 31 year old, troubled brother. Of course, she wanted to help – She really wanted to help him. Like Mycroft had said, Sherlock deserved to have a life, and she wanted to help him._

_God she sounded cheesy._

She walked up to the glass that separated Sherlock from her and Mycroft and looked up and was met with...

The back of Sherlock's curly haired head as he sat in the middle of the cell, cross legged and holding his pill cup... well more like a _mug_ in his right hand and a black pill capsule in his left, holding it up to the light.

"You know Mycroft, this new pill just seems to be the same pill that I have been taking for the past 16 years but it has a different casing. It's funny really, thinking that they can trick _me_." A surprisingly deep voice echoed through the cell and Molly, once again, held her breath.

"Why would they add more medication for your paranoia? You already have three forms of medication for your flashbacks alone. It seems that I will be having a talk with your GP..." Mycroft trailed off as he conjured his phone out of his pocket and was already dialling a number and put it to his ear before Sherlock cut him off.

"What's the point? It wouldn't make any difference. There are the anti-anxiety medications – The azapirones, the hydroxyzine. Then there's the antipsychotic medication- The clozapine, olanzapine, risperidon- Which supposedly are third generation antipsychotics. Don't forget the antidepressants' for my little problem," He lifted both of his arms into the air to show his scarred forearms, "and even then, there's still the vitamins for my eating disorders which apparently I still have. Idiots haven't even weighed me for a month. And now I have the problem of my seven year old self, which now I have to take risperidone and pirmaclosapril to stop me from turning violent, and trying to kill him with the straps of my bed DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND?" Sherlock stood up now, his full height towering over Molly's as he walked up to the glass and stood in front of Mycroft, shaking and gritting his teeth.

Molly wanted to run, but she was frozen to the spot at the display in front of her.

"Someone's getting annggrryyyyy!" Moriarty sung, trying to break the tension between the two brothers who seemed to be having a death match through the act of sight.

"Sherlock, you need to calm down." Mycroft commanded, without breaking eye contact. Molly didn't know what to do, she seemed to want to back away slowly away from the exchange from the two brothers but she was froze to the spot.

"_I _need to calm down? _Me? _I can tell by the ink smudges on your right hand and the traces of ink on your forehead that your are under stress, most likely from me making the doctors _run _away and you're probably having a _little_ trouble finding someone who will put up with my _'offending and truthful' _way of speaking." He spat out, inching closer to the glass so that the tip of his nose toughed the glass.

_His right hand? _

Molly spared a glance at Mycroft's hand and saw nothing out of the ordinary – It was just a _hand with ink smudges._

_Four fingers, one thumb._

"That's what he does. You know, he did it to me once-"

"SHUT UP! You talk and talk and _talk_! Why can't you just SHUT UP AND LEAVE. ME. ALONE!" Sherlock turned from his stance that mirrored his brothers, and edged even closer to the glass in Moriarty's direction. His fists where clenched and he was breathing through his teeth.

His eyes were filled with rage and anger... _Insecurity?_

Moriarty edged closer to the glass of his own cell, pressing his forehead and his amused look vanished. His mouth was straight and his eye looked as though they were going to pierce a hole in Sherlock's head.

Before they could get even _closer_ to the glass, Mycroft intervened and stood between them, blocking them from each other's gaze. He sighed, and rubbed his face with his hands, looking worse for wear and rather _pissed off._

_"_Sherlock... Please just take your medication. We have someone here to see you. Hopefully you won't scare her off. No, you will not scare her off. Understood?" Sherlock stole a glance at his brother, before taking a deep breath and grimacing. He took the pill cup of off the floor, and placed half of the multicoloured and different sized pills onto his palm.

There was at least a handful.

"And you," Mycroft pointed to Moriarty who was grinning in his cell, "Shut. Up."

Moriarty did a motion of sealing his lips and throwing away the key, before he went to sit on his bed, just staring at them and smiling.

_Oh,_ Molly thought, _I really do not like him._

She turned her attention back to Sherlock who was staring at the pills in his palm, which he had brought up to his face, like he inspecting them. Analyzing them. He looked so intrigued and so haunted and so incredibly _beautiful._

_Even Molly couldn't deny that._

Mycroft was staring at him and sighed, and spared a glance at Molly. She smiled at him. This thing he did, when he zoned out of reality and into his mind. She guessed it bothered Mycroft but to her... She thought it was better than when he was before, insecure and agitated and incredibly angry. He looked much more comfortable and peaceful... Ethereal.

Seeming to snap out of his trance, He blinked and his head snapped up and stared at Mycroft before saying, "I need water."

"Do they not normally give you any?"

"Sometimes they forget. Makes it much easier... Water, if you want me to take them."

Mycroft sighed. "I'll have to go to the staff and get some. Imbeciles..." Mycroft trailed off before Molly remembered something.

"OH! I have a bottle in my bag!" She reached into her bag which was perched on her shoulder and pulled out a small bottle of water, before passing it to Mycroft who smiled at her.

"Ah! Thank you, Miss Hooper." She smiled back, finally feeling useful. She looked from Mycroft, expecting Sherlock to be expecting his pills again but when she looked back across she saw him staring right at her.

_Oh God._

His eyes were trained on her as she stared back and she gulped as she saw his eyes roam her entire being. He looked so concentrated.

"This is Molly Hooper. She is your psychotherapist from now on." Mycroft said slowly, hoping to God he didn't make her run away like the _oh so many_ others that had ran after the first few _hours._

Sherlock continued to stare at her as Mycroft put his hand through the metal slider in the glass with was the only way to contact the other without going around and through the door on the other side of the cell. There was also a less high security door on the side of the cell, which was easy to access. _Probably in case Mycroft wanted to go inside his cell. _ Mycroft help out the half empty bottle of water and cleared his throat so that his brother would take it. Sherlock blinked, before half turning and reaching for the bottle with his free hand and unscrewed the cap.

_That was intense _Molly thought. The way he looked at her... She had the breath took out of her. He looked at her as though he was trying to figure out her life story...

And then she remembered.

_He simply gives you a look over and knows your whole life story. _

Jim Moriartys words echoed in her mind. What if he did?

What if he knew about...?

No... He couldn't... Could he?

She gulped, and looked back at Sherlock. He gave Mycroft a glance, and looked at the pills in his hand before shoving the first handful of pills into his mouth all at once and took 3 big gulps of water. He shook his head and grimaced as he felt the pills slowly dissolve and slide down his throat.

He repeated the process again with the last handful of pills, and drunk the remains of what was Molly's water for the day. She would just get another.

He placed the bottle on the floor next to the now empty cup on the floor. He turned to Mycroft.

"Happy?"

"Of course. Thank you for doing as you're told for once brother." Mycroft let a small smile appear on his face.

Molly looked at Mycroft and saw guilt across his face before it disappeared without a trace. She wondered why he would feel guilt. Well, of course, it was no mistake in saying that it was most likely a terrible experience to have a younger sibling in such a state. He probably felt the need to protect his younger brother, and maybe he felt like he wasn't because he was in here... Wait.

Maybe Mycroft didn't protect him when he needed it most.

_May I ask...? Did he ever hit you?_

_No... It was no secret I was deemed the 'favourite child'..._

As she looked back at Sherlock, who was starting to look drowsy and tired. His eyes drooped and he was swaying slightly where he was stood. _The pills for his paranoia must be kicking in_, she thought.

As Mycroft was about to speak to him, She put her hand out to stop him, and stood up to the glass, so that she was stood directly in front of Sherlock's nearly sleeping form. She took a deep breath.

"Sherlock," She spoke in a soft voice, careful not to startle him as he was nearly fast asleep, "Go and lie down and go to sleep. You need some rest to sleep of the pills." She saw his eyes open, and she saw how clouded they were as he tried to stay awake. His eyebrows furrowed.

"I... I don't..." He tried to argue with her but she could see he was winning. She actually wasn't sure he would reach the bed in time before his body shut down from exhaustion.

She placed her bag on the floor and made her way to the side door and made to open it when Mycroft put her off.

"Miss Hooper, I don't recommend-"

"It's ok Mr Holmes."

And with that, she opened the door slowly, and walked up to him quietly. Mycroft watched, poised and ready in case Sherlock got scared from contact. He did not liked to be touched since what happened with their father. He thinks everything as a threat.

Molly saw that the cell was smaller than it looked from outside of the glass, and saw just how _tall_ Sherlock was compared to her small frame as she walked up to him. She placed her hand lightly on the top of his arm, and he immediately flinched away and saw his face scrunch up. His sharp intake of breath nearly told her to back off but she kept her hand on his arm and lightly squeezed.

"I'm not going to hurt you Sherlock; I'm just helping you get to bed..." She felt his tense arm relax a little under her fingertips and she placed her other hand on his left hand to slowly guide him to his bed. He, to Mycroft and her amazement complied and slowly started to shuffle to the bed as she kept his balance for him.

As she helped lower him onto his bed, he slowly turned onto his side and curled into himself, almost as if he was protecting himself.

She made sure that he was all ok, and she turned to leave, mighty proud of herself that she got him to actually listen to her. He looked peaceful as she turned to leave but the next 10 words that came out his mouth shocked her, and most defiantly Mycroft.

"I don't know why Molly Hooper... But I trust you." He murmured in a barely audible voice, and with that, he curled into himself even more and a soft snore left his mouth.

Molly was shocked... and a little bit heart warmed.

Mycroft was lost for words. No one trusted easily.

_Especially not Sherlock Holmes_

Mycroft stared at Molly in wonder as she slowly made her way out of his cell. No one, and he meant no one, had _ever_ made Sherlock emit a reaction such as this.

_Who are you, Molly Hooper?_

**_THANK THE LORDS IT IS DONE._**

**_I want to thank you all for sticking with me while waiting for this chapter, you beautiful people. I hope this chapter was worth the wait, and it is inconsiderably longer than the last two (over 5000 words, YAY!)_**

**_I am also on .org now, so 'Asylum will also be posted on there._**

**_I might make a separate Tumblr for it aswell, I don't know... decisions, decisions._**

**_Sorry about all the songs as well, I just really like having playlists with stories, and a lot of the songs I picked for this story fit in well so please try and listen to them if you have the time!_**

**_Thanks again!_**

**_BHHGEFSLOTRTHZIMM98_**


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